The old industrial warehouse in Brooklyn's Red Hook had fallen silent after midnight. Outside, the orange glow of a few streetlights illuminated the abandoned docks and rusted containers. Inside, Marcus's apartment stood as a sanctuary amidst the silence.
But that night, the sanctuary was dangerous.
Marcus sat cross-legged on the floor, focused on the metal in his palm. It had been a few days since he'd changed Chloe's dressing; the wound still hadn't healed, but it no longer hurt. Instead, there was a strange warmth, a feeling of energy. It was as if a small sun was burning in his palm.
In front of him, a nail lay on the floor. Ordinary, rusty, a remnant of construction debris. Marcus fixed his eyes on it, regulated his breathing, focused.
The nail trembled.
Marcus's heart quickened. He focused harder. The nail rose slightly from the ground, hovering in the air. Marcus tried to move it right, left. The nail obeyed. After circling the nail around his body, he sent it at high speed to hit the target board on the opposite wall, hitting the bullseye.
A smile spread across his face. He was getting better at controlling his power every day. Chloe's support had restored his self-confidence. Perhaps this ability was not a curse, but a gift.
Just then, the door lock clicked.
Marcus sprang to his feet with a soldier's reflex, reaching for the weapon under his pillow. The door opened. Two men in expensive suits entered. Behind them, Anton Petrov slowly glided in.
"Mr. Marcus," Anton said, his voice casual, as if visiting a friend. "I hope I'm not disturbing you. I knocked on your door, but no one answered. So I... had to come in uninvited. I was worried something had happened to you."
Marcus's eyes scanned the men. Both looked professional; they had no weapons in their hands, but their body language showed they were ready to attack at any moment. And Anton… He was not worried, but threatening.
"What do you want?" Marcus said, his voice cold and threatening.
Anton walked around the apartment, looking at the emptiness on the walls, the minimal furniture, the nail on the target board. He smiled.
"What do I want? I've come to make you an offer. But first, I'd like to see you do that again." He pointed at the nail. "Seeing a nail fly through the air… Impressive."
A wave of anger welled up inside Marcus. "Get out of here," Marcus said through gritted teeth. "I'm telling you for the last time."
Anton ignored the threat. He sat in the single armchair opposite him, crossed his legs. "People like you, Mr. Marcus, always need a purpose. You had a purpose in Iraq, didn't you? Homeland, duty, friends... Then that boy... Ahmed, if I'm not mistaken. Everything fell apart after that day."
Marcus's face turned white. Hearing Ahmed's name gave him physical pain.
"Don't you dare say his name," he growled.
Anton continued, unconcerned. "But now, you could have a new purpose. You have a new power. And I can teach you how to use this power. How to control it, how to grow it, how to... direct it. And I can give you a purpose."
Marcus's anger was now out of control. But this time, he would show his anger not with a weapon, but with his new power. He would give the stranger who had entered his home what he wanted.
He took a single breath. He thought of the chair Anton was sitting in. Lifting it into the air, throwing it against the wall...
The chair's legs lifted off the ground.
Anton's men took a step back in surprise. Anton, on the other hand, did not flinch. On the contrary, a look of admiration appeared on his face.
"Wonderful," he exclaimed. "Truly wonderful."
Marcus, holding the chair in the air, looked into Anton's eyes for a moment. There was no fear in those eyes. There was only greed, ambition, and a dangerous admiration.
Then, he threw the chair, with Anton in it, against the wall at the other end of the room.
The crash echoed through the warehouse. Anton's men wanted to draw their weapons, reaching for them. But the weapons did not obey them. Anton had collapsed to the ground with the chair, but he was up in a few seconds. He dusted off his suit, still with that dangerous smile on his face.
"Impressive," he said, adjusting his jacket. "But uncontrolled. The target should have been my men, not me. Strategy, Mr. Marcus. Control. Uncontrolled power is not power. If you want to be invincible, you must temper your power with strategy. I can teach you."
Marcus was breathless. Moving such a large object had exhausted him more than he expected. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground.
Anton's men immediately aimed their weapons. But Anton stopped them with his hand.
"Enough," he said. "That's all for tonight. But remember, Mr. Marcus, my offer still stands. Think about it."
He took a card from his inside jacket pocket and threw it on the ground.
"I will await your call."
He turned and walked to the door with his men. As he was leaving, he stopped, spoke without looking back:
"I'm sorry about Ahmed. Really. But you can't change the past. You can change the future. Join me for the future, Mr. Marcus!"
The door closed. Footsteps faded. Then, silence.
Marcus sat on the ground for a long time, trying to catch his breath. His body was trembling, his mind was in turmoil. Anton's words, Ahmed's ghost, the chaos created by his new power... It had all come crashing down on him at once.
He looked at the card on the ground. Black, plain, with only a phone number and a name: Anton Petrov.
For a moment, he considered picking up the card and tearing it up. Then, Chloe's face came to mind. Her words: "These powers are not a curse, Marcus. They gave them to you not to take life, but to protect life."
Anton wasn't talking about protecting life. He was talking about power, control, domination. And Marcus, as a soldier, knew very well how power corrupts.
But at the same time, he was alone. Chloe was there, yes, but she was a doctor, not a warrior. There were other triggers, but they were far away, abstract beings. Anton, on the other hand, was concrete, powerful, and dangerously persuasive.
He picked up the card and put it in his pocket. He hadn't made a decision. He just wanted to keep his options open.
The next morning, Marcus was walking in Central Park. The last leaves of autumn, in shades of yellow and red, rustled under his feet. The air was cool, the sky was cloudless. But storms were raging inside him.
He thought of Anton. His offer, his threats, his promises. Then he thought of Chloe. Her compassion, her support, her faith. Then the others: Mert, Kai, Elena, Sofia... People he didn't know, but to whom he was somehow connected.
He sat on a bench in the middle of the park. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. Meditation was something Chloe had suggested. "You must control your mind first to control your power," she had said.
He took a deep breath, exhaled. Inhaled, exhaled. Slowly, the noise inside him subsided. Silence fell.
And in that silence, he heard a whisper.
From very far away, a very faint voice. But familiar. It was Mert's voice. "You are not alone, Marcus."
He opened his eyes. There was no one around. Only trees, birds, and a few people running in the distance.
But the whisper continued to echo inside him.
He made his decision.
He took out his phone, opened the encrypted messaging app Sofia had sent. He wrote a short message:
"Anton reached out to me. Made an offer. I refused. But he will be back. Be prepared. - Marcus"
He pressed send. Then, another message to Chloe:
"You were right. I am not alone. Thank you."
He put the phone in his pocket, stood up. He looked at the sky. The clouds were drifting, the seagulls were screaming. Life was going on as usual.
As he was leaving the park, he stopped for a moment, reached into his pocket. Anton's card was still there. He hesitated for a few seconds, then took out the card, tore it in two, and threw it in a trash can.
He had made his choice. There was no turning back.
That night, when he returned to his apartment, he saw an envelope slipped under the door. Inside, a single sentence was written:
"To refuse is to choose war. So, Marcus… Are you ready for war?"
There was no signature. But Marcus knew where it came from.
He smiled. Inside, there was an excitement he hadn't felt in years. It wasn't fear. It was adrenaline, purpose, and a desire to believe in something.